The TME Program—Talented Mechanical Engineers Program—was a prestigious initiative hosted by the Mazon Corporation, designed to spotlight rising mechanical engineers from across the globe. But to Cian, the entire event didn't feel like a celebration of young talent. It felt… political.
Standing at the side of the grand convention hall, surrounded by glossy banners and LED screens showcasing futuristic car prototypes, he muttered to Ivan, "This is more like a business platform than a program for promoting engineers like us."
Ivan gave him a sideways glance and shrugged. "All programs run by big corporations turn out like this. It's all about the money and partnerships in the end."
Before Cian could argue further, a voice echoed across the speakers.
"Welcome, everyone, and thank you for gracing our TME program with your presence. I also want to extend my gratitude to the management for giving me the privilege to present this speech—"
Cian tuned out. Some suited man had taken the stage, rambling through an official speech. The audience had grown thick, and the lights too bright.
"Do you think I'll even see Adian if he shows up?" Cian whispered. "Look at this crowd. And the size of this place… He could be anywhere."
Ivan smirked, noticing the worry furrowed on Cian's brow. "Don't look like that," he said. "You look like a wife who just lost her husband."
Cian shot him a glare. "Who are you calling a girl?"
"I'm sorry, sir. I would never do that again," Ivan teased with a mock salute.
"I should take a walk," Cian said, brushing off his embarrassment. "If the horse doesn't come to the river, then the river will come to him."
As he started weaving his way through the crowd, Ivan called out, "Who's the horse?!"
Cian didn't reply, too focused now on finding someone—or maybe just calming his nerves.
⸻
Wandering aimlessly through the bustling venue, Cian heard sharp voices from around a quiet corner. Curious, he stepped closer to listen.
"Why are you behaving like this? What's wrong with you? Are you insane?" someone snapped.
Cian peeked slightly around the edge. It was Mr. Anderson, an executive Cian vaguely recognized from a prior networking mixer. He was facing another boy—tall, lean, dressed in black.
"I didn't ask you to do anything inappropriate," Anderson said, gesturing aggressively. "Just walk up to her and greet her. She says she likes you. Just chat with her, and she'll definitely cooperate with us."
"I've already told you," the boy replied in a low, cool voice, "I'm not interested in talking to her."
His tone was firm. Calm. Unapologetic.
"My job is to design car models, not to help sweet-talk your potential business partners."
And with that, he looked away, indifferent.
Cian's breath caught.
It was Adian.
Even from the shadows, that voice was unmistakable. Cold, still, and dispassionate—just like in the interviews and pitch recordings Cian had watched obsessively.
"You idiot!" Anderson hissed. "I think I'm being too polite with you. You'll talk to her, and I don't care whether you like it or not. Or else… you won't like what happens next."
Without waiting for a reply, Anderson stormed off, fuming.
Adian remained where he was. Still. Unshaken. Like a statue carved from black ice. His face betrayed nothing—no rage, no regret, no reaction at all. It was impossible to guess what he was thinking.
From where he stood, Cian couldn't take his eyes off him.
He had found the horse.
And suddenly, he wasn't so sure the river was ready for the meeting.